


The Highest Price

by OwnerOfAllTears



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Just angst, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of alcohol, No Fluff, Pure Bullshit, but hey is honest work, mentions of wounds, my worst writing, this is crap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwnerOfAllTears/pseuds/OwnerOfAllTears
Summary: Everyone thought there was nothing more dangerous than being part of the Shelby family. Always in war with the police, the gangs, the target always painted on their backs, or right in between their eyes. The Shelbys never knew if they would make it home that night, having had one too many brushes with death. Far too many to kept count. Far too many to care. They were the Peaky Fucking Blinders. This was just part of the job.But little did they know, them folks from Small Heath, that there was something far more dangerous that being a Shelby. Something almost always deadlyBeing loved by one.Being loved meant you were the target, always the target. You were currency, blackmail, bait. You were the price to pay.The highest price
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 125





	1. The Calm Before The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first writing of Peaky Blinders and its probably rubbish but please don't slay me too hard I tried my best and I promise to get better at it

Laughter. Swearing. Yelling. Breaking of glasses. Those once obnoxious sounds were now part of your daily routine, ever since you had become the landlady of The Garrison tavern. Sitting at the desk of the back office, the door slightly ajar, and a glass of wine in front of her, (Y/N) Hawthorne was currently bent over the accounting book, finishing the last counts of the day before heading over to number 6 Watery Lane, on Tommy’s request. A smirk spread across your face as you undid the first buttons of your coat, making sure for the tenth time that night that your new red dress remained in perfect state. Red, his favourite colour on you. Tommy had mentioned that night would be special, and those words required you to put your best foot forward.

Daydreaming over the books, you couldn’t help but fondly recall the circumstances that had brought you to this position. A newcomer into Small Heath from the neighbouring area of Sparkbrook, running away from a recently broken heart and the crumbling of your parents’ marriage. Barely 22 years old, carrying two suitcases and a heart full of uncertainty for the future; had you made your way through the dirty streets. Washing clothes you paid your first rent, a well-paid dress you had sewn for a wedding allowed you to get new clothes for a job interview. Always finding small things to do, sometimes barely getting by, but always having enough to keep a roof over your head and food on the table. That’s how you survived your first months until word of a pub needing a barmaid reached your ears.

~

Harry eyed you suspiciously as you walked in one Monday morning, wrapped in a brown coat and clutching a job advert in your gloved hand. He had reasons to be worried for you, of course. Last time a woman that pretty and that young had walked through those doors it had meant nothing but trouble for her. The kindness in his heart reprimanded him for not warning you as he led you to the back office, feeling in his gut like he walked a lamb to the den of lions. That kind smile and soft manners were the type of things the Shelbys were hungry for, and he feared they may drain any goodness you had to feed their venom.

After your ‘interview’, you were led outside to wait for the brothers’ decision. The water and cordial Harry placed in your hand didn’t ease your nerves, body still trembling from the interrogation held with the owners. Your wretched luck had wanted to have all three of them in the middle of a heated meeting the moment you were walked in. Those who introduced themselves as Arthur and John seemed more than pleased to have a girl like yourself behind the bar, but the third man, the one who seemed to run the show… You couldn’t recall ever feeling that type of fear, as if those pale eyes were ready to crack your soul open and read all of your secrets. That man, Thomas, didn’t utter a word as his brothers bombarded you with every possible question, seemingly wanting to know every little detail of your past and present.

_“Miss (Y/N)”_ A voice called behind you, just as you had downed the last of your glass. Turning around, you saw Arthur Shelby in the doorway of the office, with his brothers just behind, John tapping his foot on the floor and Thomas taking a swig straight from a bottle. Judging by the dishevelled clothes and hairs, things seemed to have gotten physical real quick _“How soon can you start?”_

And just like that, you were behind the bar six days a week, running around serving drinks and cleaning messes while the clients flirted with you, eyeing you as a new shiny toy. One too many times a hand had tried to go too far, but you were never afraid of defending your honour and assert yourself as someone not to be messed with. It took time, but you managed to earn the respect of the Garrison’s clients. And that of its terrifying owners.

The way people fell silent, scrambling to get out of their way, never meeting their eyes. It was as if the Devil in person walked in, sucking life out of the room. You knew nothing about them, more than they were the ones paying your bills every month. But soon enough the whispers reached you. Tales that would have mothers covering their children’s ears, and maidens running for the door. They were indeed the reincarnation of the Devil, and you worked right under their noses.

Earning their trust, however, was a different story. You knew better than to ask about the meetings held in the private, about the rounds of policemen asking odd questions, and definitely knew better than to ask about the guns kept under the bar in a box. Things happened there, bad things, but you kept your head down and did your work the best you could.

The first test of your loyalty came in the form of a mad man raising a gun at Finn and Isaiah, both of whom had apparently flirted with the man’s daughters. He threatened to blow their brains off, not wanting his angels playing with the devil’s spawn. Both boys, despite being part of the Peaky Blinders, were clearly scared to their guts; after all they were still kids. Your attempts to calm him down were futile, and by no means would you grab one of the weapons from the box. The fight was brought to an abrupt end when you smashed a bottle onto the man’s head, his body collapsing immediately at your feet. Without batting an eye, you ordered the boys to drag him into a back alley while you picked up the mess; humming a song as you swept blood stained glass from the floor.

No one doubted in which side you stood on since then.

Once you had Finn in your pocket, getting past the others was easy, and oddly pleasant. John and Esme had you come over at least once every two weeks, Polly had taught you how to defend yourself with hat pins and shoe heels, and Arthur even allowed you to take a look at the pub’s books, taking himself away from numbers that made his head hurt. After a year in, you were unofficially the accountant of the pub, handling all the books and bills while Arthur sat behind the bar drinking. You were in all of their good graces, all but Thomas. Or so you thought.

Rain hammered your windows that November night, thunders booming through the sky and into the depths of your chest. The storm was deafening, but even above the noise you could hear three heavy knocks on your front door. Fear paralyzed you, who could possibly need you at this ungodly hour, in this inclement weather? Three more knocks pulled you out of bed. Whoever it was, you would send them back on their merry way. Enveloped in a blue robe and holding a candle, you tiptoed to the entrance, barely opening a smidgen to peer outside. In the blink of an eye, a body came tumbling over you, dragging you down to the floor. A wet hand covered your mouth to muffle your screams of help. A flash of lightning crossed the sky, illuminating a bloodied face and a pair of pale blue eyes surrounded by thick eyelashes.

~

Following your own rule, you didn’t ask what had happened, or why had Thomas Shelby called at _your_ door from all places. You spent the next hour cleaning him up and sewing him back together, shoving a glass of whiskey in his hand and a rag in his mouth as you pulled out the bullet from his bicep. Very few words were said, but he could feel the worry radiating from your face, the fear brimming in your eyes, and the care you put into him as you placed a pillow under his head and a blanket over him, his drenched clothes hung by the recently lit fireplace. By morning he was gone, having left two pounds on your kitchen.

He let you call him Tommy after that night.

That was his first, but not last, time coming to you for help, every time he did so paying you back. Sometimes you had to sew a gash on his side, or just give him a place where no one asked and no one judged. Just you, him, and a bottle. Never asking more than what your relationship allowed, only holding the rule that any weapon stayed by the door. So many times he passed out in your couch that you permanently kept spare bedding perched over the backrest and logs ready in the fireplace.

Looking back, it was unclear for both of you whom fell in first. You began feeling sparks whenever your skins brushed, while Tommy longed to sleep under the same roof as you, even if it was just his head cradled in your lap, your scent lingering in his hair hours after he had left. You stopped receiving his extra payments, putting the cash into the pub’s safety box whenever he refused to take it back.

“( _Y/N)_ ” He tried to reason with you as you shoved a handful of bills into his pocket, after having spent a good amount of time removing shards of glass from his hand “ _I’ve caused you enough trouble already, this is the least I can do_ ”

“ _No”_ You held your ground, faces inches from each other as your hand was still in his coat “ _You don’t pay people who care for you_ ”

The turning point came with him drunkenly pouring his soul out to you, allowing you a glimpse of the man he had been before France, the Tommy so fondly remembered by Polly. Hours he spent, talking about Greta and Grace, his nightmares, and admitting he didn’t want to get close to you, for he fucked up everything he touched. He didn’t want to taint you with his poison nor drag you into his nightmare.

That was the first time your lips touched his, moulding together perfectly, like they had been meant to be.

From there on, everything else flowed slowly and smoothly, in the way that love songs do, filling your soul and warming your heart. He did everything in his power to keep you safe, starting with appointing you landlady of the tavern to mantain you out of the bar and far away from the prying eyes of men. Per his own insistence, you left your small apartment for a somewhat better neighbourhood. Your only refusal was to ever carry a gun, even though the entire family insisted you never knew when it would come in handy. But you put your foot down; in no way would you carry with you something made to kill.

The moment your relationship with Tommy became serious, a few rules became gospel within the gang. You never stayed alone in the Garrison. Every time you went home from work or vice versa, a Peaky Blinder would escort you, always walking a few steps behind and never making contact. Every member was forbidden from speaking about you and Tommy; for fear that word of your relationship reached the wrong ears and put the target in your back for any of his many many wrongdoings.

You were Tommy Shelby’s best kept secret.

~

Your train of thought was interrupted by the chiming of the bells, ten bongs echoing through the office. It was getting late, and the last thing you needed was worrying Tommy by delaying your arrival. After buttoning up your winter coat, you quickly gathered your belongings and pinned your hat back in place. The desk drawers and the office door were locked and you bid Harry goodnight. Your eyes landed in the man in the corner, gently tipping your hat in his direction before leaving the place. Three minutes later, his footsteps followed yours, any sound he made muffled by the thick layer of snow covering the cobbled streets.

The blizzard outside had strengthened over the hours, snowflakes raining down in a thick white sheet, piling on the rim of your hat and sliding down through the collar of your coat. Your heels made no sound as you marched down the poorly lit streets, pricking up your ears every few minutes to check on your personal escort’s whereabouts. You had never admitted it to anyone, but having someone follow you wherever you went made you feel more uneasy than safe, as if their mere presence meant there were dangers lurking in every corner, waiting to pounce on you

The light coming from the windows of number 6 brought comfort to your worries. Tommy had called a family meeting, and had asked you to wait for him there while they were done, which should have happened by now. Despite time, walking into that place still caused your stomach to twist. The things that had transpired in that house, the great plans crafted under that roof. It was like entering a forbidden lair, which required you to stop and ease your nerves.

Your actions were interrupted by a soft tap on your arm. Back tensing, you peered over your shoulder to see no other than the man who had walked you home, inches away from you. Your surprise was obvious, for you weren’t ignorant to the rule of never addressing you in public. Any question of protest died in your lips as his calloused hand cradled the back of your neck, pulling you close to his chest until his lips brushed your ear; as if he was ready to tell you a secret.

A choked cry fell from your lips, muffled in the man’s woollen coat. Your eyes had widened, body frozen as the thug’s hand moved in between his body and yours, driving his knife deep into your abdomen over and over again until he could be sure not even Gypsy witchcraft could save you. The last words you heard before being dropped were

“ _Mr. Sabini sends his regards”_

The knife and your body fell side by side, snow dampening your clothes and freezing your body to the core. Blood seeped into the snow, the crimson colour surrounding you as life spilled out of your body with every beat of your heart. You had been cruelly left 1 meter away from the door, so close to a safe haven you never reached. Not enough strength was left in you to cry for help, not even enough to protect your face from the glacial touch of the snow, biting at your cheeks and lips.

Your eyes looked pleadingly up to the skies, begging to be spared of any sin you had committed as you sensed your last breaths approaching. Your last thoughts were gifted to Tommy, your poor Tommy. It had been you, instead of him. His life spared in exchange for yours. And you knew that would break him. His very own nightmare had become true, and a deep worry overcame you as you imagined what would be of him, overwhelmed by rage; a rage thunderous as a storm and demolishing as an earthquake. Only tales you had heard, of the violent nature he harboured in himself, and feared the unleashing of the beast would crumble the world around him.

If you could just hold his hand now.

As a numbing fear overwhelmed your senses, each breath laboured and shallow, a memory was brought to you. Just one sentence murmured amid a troubling dream, a sentence you came to understand much later, now as your own time came to an end

“ _In the bleak midwinter”_


	2. Red Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been Tommy’s only purpose in life to keep you safe. What would become of him after his mission had failed?

Eleven chimes of the bells.

Eleven times the bells echoed through the house, booming in the depths of Tommy’s head and in the last strands of his patience. The meeting had been a disaster from start to end. Couldn’t those bloody idiots show a little more compromise to the company? If your boss tells you to be there at 9:30 pm, you fucking arrive at 9:30 pm. Not ten o’clock like John, arguing that Esme had been keeping him ‘busy’. Busy making another baby, that’s for sure. And definitely not 10:20 like Polly, whom had stopped with Michael at a pub to grab a drink. They didn’t attend to the Garrison, however, complaining it was full to the brim. The Garrison.

You should have arrived by now.

Tommy had been tapping his foot down nervously, an act quite improper and out of character for him, a person who took pride in his collected demeanour and always calculated ways. But the arguing and delays had been getting on his nerves, mixed with the uneasiness that had settled on his chest since he left you alone in the pub four hours ago. He had insisted you met him at the house, refusing to acknowledge your questions and just asking you to trust him and be patient.

Patience was the last thing left on him now.

Tempers were flaring and punches would soon be flying left and right. Tommy was about to cut off John’s babbling when the entire room was shut silent by the ringing of the phone. Very few people they knew had access to a phone, and a call at this hour could only mean bad news. Tommy released his grip on John’s arm and rushed to his office. Maybe it was you.

Where were you?

But no, it wasn’t your sweet voice letting him know that you were late, or had decided to go home. The words that reached Tommy’s ears froze him to the core, his grip on the phone tightening to the point of his hands turning white and trembling. The voice was cold, mocking and eerily familiar, dragging each word carefully slow for maximum impact, drilling that sentence in Thomas Shelby’s brain.

_“Red. You always loved her in red. Red is the last you’ll see of her”_

Click.

Each syllable was like a bullet, penetrating his body. But they didn’t kill him, no. Instead those words left behind an agonising pain, stealing the air from his lungs and the warmth from his blood. Paralyzed for a moment, his body stiffened as the receiver slipped from his grasp, the clattering of the apparatus crashing on the floor dragging the attention of the family. No one dared speak up, each one rooted in their spot waiting for him to move. The silence was deafening, ringing in Tommy’s ears as he swept past the shop doors, barely having time to grab his coat and cap on his way out.

Where had his angel go?

His coat billowed behind him as he pulled the front door open, snow forcing its way inside the house with great strength. The storm was terrible, the white sheet covering the city almost five inches tall and the wind capable of cutting into your exposed flesh with its gelid touch. The inclemency of the weather barely matched the storm harbouring in Tommy’s mind as he marched out in search for his girl.

No more than three steps he gave, when his feet collided into an immovable object buried in white, forcing his body to the ground, cursing into the skies as he tried to untangle himself from the lump of ice. Except, it was no ice. His tumble had removed some of the snow piling up, revealing a partly frozen figure, clothes and skin splashed with an unknown liquid. The wind blew, dragging the little snowflakes down the cobbled street and revealing the secrets hidden beneath the frosty layer.

All he saw was red.

The world seemed to move in slow motion. Painful screams echoed down the empty street, frozen fingers digging to collect your body. Tears splattering onto your cold cheeks, desperate begging whispered onto your ear, tender lips crashing against yours in a feeble attempt to coax some reaction out of you. Anything, any signal that the woman he loved was still there in his arms; that he’d get to hear your laughter again, feel your hands on his hair, hear your slow breaths at night, with your back pressed against his chest.

But his angel had spread her wings.

~

In days to come, Tommy couldn’t recall a memory of what transpired after that. His vision had gone red, and that was all he could see. Maroon lipstick on your frozen lips, bright red fabric enveloping your body like a shroud; the crimson staining your teeth, scarlet snow surrounding you both, your life poured out on his hands and clothes. Everything else was black and white, the world losing its shine and the edges of reality blurring as his fingertips found the cold steel of the knife. The rage bubbling inside his gut swept away the world around him, forcing him into an overpowering darkness, rendering him permanently deaf to any pleas or reasoning, any possible words of comfort. There was no comfort in this life without you; no world could ever exist without your love, your light, your never ending kindness.

There was no life after you.

Tommy couldn’t remember, but Polly would never forget. Her nephew yelling at his own family to catch him, to find the killer of his lover, eyes burning with fury and spit flying out with every word. Veins in his forehead bulging with every order he barked, mixed with broken cries while he held your body against his chest, swearing on his life that you’d be avenged. Horrific screams of sorrow, the weeping of a wounded beast. The crashing of the self-claimed unbeatable man who had flown too high. People peered behind their curtains, but Tommy was beyond feeling shame on his grief. In that moment, under that clouded sky, he wished he could die with you.

The Shelbys had scattered in every direction, searching for an attacker long gone with the wind. Any unlucky bastard that crossed their path that night would suffer an undeserved wrath, but no amount of beatings and deaths would quench the fire raging on. If anything, the lack of success would just fuel the bonfire. The explosion to come was greater than anything Small Heath had ever witnessed.

Tommy Shelby had always been a walking bomb, and (Y/N) was his detonator.

~

Two souls died that night, and two people were buried in the city’s graveyard three days later. On one hand you, the sweetest girl the family had ever met, and in the other, Tommy. Whatever innocence he had left, what little remained of his pre-war self, the last strands of his humanity were lowered into the ground with you. His heart had been peeled away like a withering rose, each memory of you taking away another petal. The hairpins you had forgotten in his room felt as if they were pricking his eyes. A love letter you had written him, bearing an imprint of your red lips and the now fading scent of your perfume. A sweater tucked under his pillow, bringing you to him in his dreams. Ordering two hundred of your favourite flowers to be brought to the wake, with a dozen more brought monthly to your grave for as long as he lived. Seeing your family huddled together, knowing he had been the one who stripped them from their baby.

The ring box that never left his pocket, now tossed to the bottom of his closet for he could not bear to look at it.

The knowledge that your death had been a betrayal from the inside almost destroyed everything the Peaky Blinders had built. Tommy felt he couldn’t trust anyone, not even his own shadow. Anyone could have been involved, anyone could have been helping destroy his world. That man had been walking you home every night for six months, earning his trust as well as your own, all while plotting to back stab him, aiming at the only weak point he had identified on the man of steel. And the knowledge that the murderer had slipped between his fingers like water, probably laughing at the trick he had pulled on the family? That was another wound that would never heal, forever stinging in the back of his mind.

Trusting wasn’t easy after that, and in years to come, he never opened up again, not like he did with you. The faith, the trust, the respect he held for you was one of a kind, and no one after that would ever be good enough. Family told him not to dwell on the bad, and instead cherish the time he got to spend with you and the memories you made together. Bloody idiots, like that had ever worked. If ever, it would cause him to curse himself as he reminisced of the time he wasted, time he could have spent with you, dwelling in your love. If he had put more of his time on you, you may still be alive.

No one would ever be you. No one would guard his heart like you did. It had been you, and only you, the one who had broken down each wall he had carefully built, your tender smile cracking the bricks and stones piled up over the years. No person would ever trespass those walls again.

Because there were no more walls.

Only he, buried six feet under by your side.

Red became his nightmare. Red was your colour and seeing it anywhere else tightened his throat and painfully burned in his chest. That colour brought rage to his senses, like a bull in front of the fighter. Any shade of it was banished from his life, yet he could still see it behind his eyelids, every time he lay alone at night, clutching a blanket that no longer held your scent and imagining your soft fingertips tracing lines up his arms. That until the demon of guilt clawed at him, painting horrific scenes in his sleep, with his hands wrapped around the hilt of a knife, specks of blood splattered across his face. No matter what they said, it had been him. It had been Tommy Shelby the one that took your life.

~

Even years later, sharing his bed with a woman whom he didn’t love, but had married and started a family with for the sake of appearances, you still haunted his dreams. Under the roof of the house he had dreamt of buying for you, with the never gifted engagement ring still in his night stand, Tommy refused to let go of your memory. Sometimes you were smiling at him across the pub, a glass of champagne perched on your hand and a mischievous glint sparkling in your eyes. Or sitting at the desk in his room, zipping up your dress after having spent the night with him, hair dishevelled and a love bite carefully placed behind your ear. His favourite was with his body entangled with yours under the sheets of the bed, your infectious laughter tickling his ears as his lips brushed along your shoulder, fingers intertwined and hearts beating in sync like one. Beating in love.

Other times you were unleashing your wrath on him, cursing his name and the day you two had met. Spilling venom as you accused him of stealing your life, of stripping you of any chance you had at happiness. Of being to blame for your blood spilled on the ground. On those nights, a heavy weight set upon his chest, while a deadly cold crept up his body, chilling his bones and freezing the blood in his veins. He suffocated, tears pouring from his eyes as remorse clawed at his throat

There were no more shovels banging at his wall at night. Only his heart being buried under a pile of red snow.


	3. Alternative Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would have been if the love of his life had never died?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested a happy alternative ending, and while is not my cup of tea, I tried to give it a shot but this is utter crap

“ _In the bleak midwinter”_

Cold. A cold so overwhelming, so intense, that you could feel it into the last fiber and nerve of your being. The wind swept snow over you, burying you to be never found and forever forgotten. Your eyelids felt too heavy to be kept open, but you feared what awaited for you in the darkness of the unknown. Tears froze in your lashes, decorating your eyes with diamonds. Each labored breath rose from your mouth in puffs of white, while the frosty bite of the snow stole the warmth from your skin. Death may have faded the pink from your cheeks, but even she refused to tarnish the cherry from your quivering lips. Even as your grasp on life loosened, beauty would not let go of her blessed child.

Love, oh love, where had you go? Only his arms could soothe the fear overtaking you. Your skin ached for his touch, his rough hands caressing yours with infinite tenderness. Blue eyes housing all the love in the world, only meant for you and you alone. Your lips needing his own, desperate for the comfort of that one last kiss. The last kiss meant for your loved was about to be stolen by the gelid touch of Death. She had at last come for you.

Had she?

You could feel it, a hand cradling the back of your neck and something lifting your legs, pulling you up and away from your grave of snow. Soft touches rubbing across your cheeks, your hands, shaking your shoulders. Something tickled your chin, and the scent of cigarettes and perfume rose to your nostrils while a light weight sat upon your chest. Warmth. Hushed voices you could not understand. Screams. Further and further away, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel.

And then, nothing.

~

Tommy’s world had abruptly been swept from under his feet, leaving him to fall into despair. One moment he was hunched over a table with Arthur and Ada, analyzing every tiny detail of the diamond and emerald ring nestled in the black velvet cushion, the white gold band bearing an inscription and a date. The perfect ring for the perfect girl. For two weeks the box had sat in the first drawer of his desk, waiting for him to muster the courage to bring it out. And suddenly, like in the harsh wake up of a wonderful dream, it seemed he had lost his chance altogether.

The screams coming from the street had alerted the entire household, and seconds later Polly came tumbling into the betting shop, ordering for an ambulance and dragging Tommy by the sleeve. Any question or protest he could form in his mind died on his lips as his gaze fell on the heap of blankets laid in the sofa in front of the fireplace. The ground must have cracked beneath him, for only in the depths of Hell could this scene exist. Yet, this was no Hell, nor a nightmare or hallucination, but rather the demolishing blow of reality, rattling the foundations of his very existence.

Crimson drops rolled down the corner of her mouth, and when his thumb brushed them away gingerly, the chill of her skin spread into his bones, heart wrenching as he was faced with her imminent demise. His knees gave in by her side, face buried into her neck as broken whimpers mixed with weak pleas for (Y/N) to be strong, to hold on, to not leave him alone. Cries of a broken man were mixed with the grunts of fury as he swore to his beloved to avenge the grievance inflicted upon her. His arms pulled her close, hoping that his heartbeat would reach hers and they would once more beat like one.

The love of his life was slipping away in between his arms, and the only thing Tommy could do was sit by and watch. Watch his happiness fade away, right after he had been so close to have everything.

So fucking close.

~

Doctors said not to have much hope, but the Shelbys didn’t take orders from anyone. Every day they would come in turns, whispering words of encouragement and cracking jokes in your ear. Polly brushed and braided your hair every day, while Esme cleaned you up the best she could. Flowers littered every surface possible, different types and arrangements insufflating life into the desolated walls. All of them paraded in and out of your room, under the exhausted gaze of the only man who refused to leave. They told him to go home, those fools. Didn’t they know that you were his home?

Four nights and three days. During four nights and three days, Tommy did not move from your bedside. Perched on a chair or pacing around with the cigarette dangling from his lips, talking to visitors and giving orders to his family, he handled his empire from your hospital room. The retaliation to come was nothing like Small Heath had seen before, the consequences would be terrible and not a stone left untouched until your assailant was found; but even that had been pushed to the back of his mind. Right there and then, his world began and ended in that white bed, the comfort his heart so desperately needed only found in the soft whispers of your breath. Had it been the doctors, the prayers, the rituals Esme performed on your behalf, or maybe his own stubbornness to not let you go; whatever it was, you lived. You pushed through something no person should be able to. All that was left was for you to wake up.

Would you ever wake up?

~

Tic – toc. Tic – toc. Each ticking of the clock reverberated in the depths of your skull, worsening the headache already throbbing in your temples. Your tongue was sandpaper inside your mouth, cracked lips glued dry. A sweet aroma of peonies surrounded you, mixed with the stinging scent of alcohol and the suffocating odour of a locked room. Something cold trickled down the sides of your face, tickling your neck as the drops descended into your bare shoulders. Voices came from far away, a man and a woman, too quiet and muffled to be told apart. Your hand lay atop something soft, fingers instinctively digging into the strands of what felt like someone’s hair.

The moment your fingertips curled, your hand was dropped, the hair immediately replaced by fingers intertwining with yours. A tender touch brushed along your cheekbones and lips, and the voices became stronger, yet still mixed in your ears like background noise, impossible to understand. Your tongue tried to moist your lips, but it felt like somewhere along the journey you had swallowed a desert. Even the effort of breathing in left you exhausted, but your raspy voice managed to mutter your first word in four days.

_“Water”_

Footsteps dashed, the clinking of glass, and a hand pushing your head forward gingerly as cold glass pressed against your lips. Just a few sips left you gasping for air, but the cool relief was absolutely worth it. Your head was placed back into a fluffed pillow, and as the seconds passed, you became more aware of your surroundings and the voices grew clearer. One stood out, close to your ear as a warm breath caressed your skin

_“Open your eyes, just once my love. One time is all I ask”_

Even if your mind couldn’t pinpoint whose voice was it, the effect it had on you was immediate. Your heart fluttered and butterflies filled your stomach, just like it did the first time your lips touched his. They say only those feeling true love can recognize each other no matter what, and right then, even if your mind couldn’t recall a name, your heart just _knew_ who it was.

The effort to lift your eyelids was greater than anything you had done, every cell urging you to drift back to sleep. The desire was greater as your vision was met with a brightly lit room hurting your eyes, your gaze fogged by days and nights of not being used. Faces floated in your range of vision, colours brightening and details coming clearer with each passing second. Curly hair and dark lips. Pale blue and paper white skin. Smiles, or so they seemed.

_“Come on darling. Time to wake up”_

A gentle pressure on your forehead. Featherlike fingertips alongside your arms. Gently coaxing you to awake, filling you with love. Your cheek leaned into the calloused palm of a hand as the world in front of your eyes finally centred and cleared. Despite the pain and discomfort a hint of a smile spread across your lips and a sound of content escaped your lips as someone played with your hair. Time to wake up.

At least half a dozen bouquets were around you, some fresh from the garden and others already withering. The room was unknown and impersonal, with high ceilings and paint peeling off the walls. Pale eyes and dark circles looked into you. His hair was dishevelled and his clothes were wrinkled and unkempt. A three day beard shadowed his jaw, pricking your fingertips as he brought your hand to his cheek. On your other side stood the woman who cared for you like a mother, skilled fingers brushing and braiding your hair. Her heavy voice was oddly tender this time around.

_“Welcome back darling. You gave us quite a scare”_ Polly gave you a careful nip on the cheek and left you alone, lightning a cigarette on her way out.

Tommy wasn’t usually one to express his emotions, verbally or physically, which was the reason why the tears crashing against your hand frightened the living daylights out of you. In all those days and months he had crumbled apart in your living room, not once had he cried like he was doing right in front of you, visibly shaken by the events that had brought you both to this moment.

_“Hey”_ Your voice was hoarse and weak, but enough to be heard _“Are you okay?”_

_“It should be me who’s asking that”_ His voice was muffled against your hand as he leaned into your warm touch, clinging onto your body and existence for dear life _“Seeing you there... for a moment I thought”_ Swallowing the lump on his throat seemed to take a great deal of effort _“I’ve felt fear and I know how to function with fear. But not once in my life had I felt like this before”_ He seemed unable to contain himself as his head laid into your chest, dwelling into the steady heartbeat echoing on his own chest. Anyone who knew him would have mocked him for that display of emotion, but now Tommy couldn’t care less. His life had always balanced over the edge, and your death would have definitely pushed him down.

You were his only anchor.

_“Don’t talk. Don’t say that now. We are okay”_ Your free arm looped around his shoulders, tracing lazy patterns up and down his back while his grip around you tightened, as if hoping that holding you strong enough he would prevent you from slipping away again. You hated seeing such a strong man, one that prided himself on withstanding everything with a straight face, shattering in front of you like this. It scared you having this effect on him. But you found yourself too weak to pull away, because you needed him just as much as he needed you. Both of you fit together like puzzle pieces, and destiny would have to work a little harder to keep you away

_“You’ve been here for long, haven’t you?” A_ smile cracked in your lips as your lips pressed on his brow, eyes falling close again as tiredness once more took over you

_“Four days today. I refused to leave you”_

_“Quite obvious it is. You really ought to take a bath”_

A single, loud laughter echoed in the walls of your room, his shoulders shaking slightly. This was probably the most laughter you had heard out of him in forever.

_“Welcome back darling”_

~

It took two weeks for you to be allowed to go home, and two more for anyone to let you set foot on the street. After your discharge you were practically forced into moving to number 6 Watery Lane so everyone could look after you. Barely allowed to peek out of the window, first in fear you’d be hurt again, and then worrying about Sabini’s men coming to finish the job. You gave Tommy as much information as you could recall from that night, hoping to have the attacker caught and help you feel a bit safer. What exactly happened you were never told, but from what you could hear around, plenty of coppers had to be paid extra for them to stay quiet. All you were allowed to see was the three brothers arriving home with busted knuckles and blood in their clothes.

The walls of the house were beginning to feel restrictive, like a prison in which you were supposed to stay safe but rather was driving you mad. It took hours and days of begging, pouting and kissing for Tommy to give in and take you out for a ride. Wrapped up in a brand new coat, with a blanket placed atop your legs, both of you took off in Tommy’s car towards an unknown location on the countryside, passing by landscapes still covered in white and ice, but beautiful nevertheless. Along the ride you engaged in small conversation and jokes, desperately wanting to return back to normal and shake off this unsettling feeling weighing on your chest ever since you were made aware of what exactly happened that faithful night.

Of course, normality was out of the picture. Puzzled looks took over you as Tommy diverted from the main road to head towards a marvellous manor sitting amidst miles of trees and meadow. The gates had been left open and no one showed up, either to welcome or expel them, as the car was parked in front of the double doors of the entrance. In fact, it seemed no one was there at all

_“Tommy?”_ You inquired as he opened your door and held his arm out for you, leading you to the main staircase, his piercing eyes taking everything in with confidence, just like he owned the place _“Wait and see, darling. I promise it’ll be worth it”_ His ever confident smirk reassured your worries. What could go wrong with Thomas Michael Shelby by your side?

The reason of his attitude became obvious as he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the double doors, the ancient wood creaking in protest as he made way for you to step into the magnificent foyer. Not even in your dreams had you set foot in such a place, with high ceilings and chandeliers, a grand staircase and every room decorated with the most exquisite taste. Your heels barely made a sound in the hand woven carpets, while your fingers ached to run along the fine lines of the rich tapestries decorating the walls. Each room seemed to hold new surprises, and your mind happily dreamed about what would each room be for if you ever owned a manor like that.

The fire merrily cracking in the hearth of the main bedroom didn’t come as a surprise for you. Tommy had clearly intended to bring you there all along, and had prepared everything accordingly. What did surprise you was the champagne and glasses waiting in a side table. Drinks were poured and glasses tinkled in front of the windows, the clouds clearing out enough to let the last rays of the setting sun bathe the room in golden light.

_“So, what are we celebrating, Mr. Shelby? You only drink champagne in grand occasions”_ The glass was discharged as you took in the breathtaking view in front of your eyes. Only trees and flowers as far as the eyes reached. A small piece of Heaven on earth. And an angel by your side, with his strong arms around your waist and moist lips tracing the curve of your neck, the trail of kisses sending pleasant shivers down your spine. His lips settled in the tender spot just behind your ear.

_“Plenty of things. First of all, the starting of our new life. A place to call our own, if you want to of course”_

_“Is this a sort of ‘I’m sorry you were stabbed because of me’ consolation gift?”_ Regret immediately filled you as you pronounced those words, noticing his body flinch and one arm dropping its grip on your frame

_“Not quite, but I thought this was a nice place to start a new life as husband and wife”_ Right as those words left his lips, the arm around you returned, while a small box was placed in your hands. His thumb flicked the lid open, revealing an exquisite ring, the stones shimmering fantastically as they received the bath of the last colours of the sunset. A breath hitched in your throat, tremulous fingers tracing the inscription on the inside of the band; the words ‘Be mine’ and a date which you couldn’t remember, much to your dismay.

The desperation must have been obvious in your eyes, for he caught immediately the origin of your doubt _“The day you first walked through those doors, with your timid smile and curious eyes. A date like any other that I’ve grown to cherish as the most special day in my life”_ His hands turned you around, so your chest was pressed against his, his hands cupping your hips while yours were still gripping the ring _“I know marrying me is probably the worst idea you could ever have. And now you must be thinking that you’ll live your life in danger if you become a Shelby. Probably it is true. But in compensation, I offer to love you every day as if we were living our last, and do everything I can and more to make sure you are happy. Because you are my happiness, and as long as you are okay, I am okay. So, Miss (Y/N) Hawthorne, would you do this poor fucker the incredible honour of becoming his wife?”_

Words failed you at the moment, lips quivering as you contemplated your entire life right in front of you. Nothing had to be said as the ring slipped into your finger and your legs slipped around his waist. He was right, things wouldn’t be easy. Harsh times would come, and probably more than once you’d regret this decision. But all the bad in the world would pay off as long as you could wake up next to him every day of your life. Your heart was in his hands, and Tommy would never let it drop.

For years you had been Tommy’s secrets

Now you were his future

You were his love

Two hearts

Just love.


End file.
